


It's a Date

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Good Omens Kink Meme [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Book Elements, Catfishing, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Evil Angels, First Dates, Food Porn, Good Omens Kink Meme, M/M, Meet-Cute, Show Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: He’s getting pitying looks now, from the people at the tables around him. Groups around him have been seated, eaten, paid, and left while he’s been waiting, nursing a single glass of wine, unwilling to drink more and risk being tipsy in case his date ever does show up. He glances again at his pocket watch, knowing it’s been far too long but afraid that if he gets up he’ll pass out.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Kink Meme [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535939
Comments: 34
Kudos: 340
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [Good Omens Kink Meme](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/) on dreamwidth, prompt: [human AU, Aziraphale gets stood up on a date](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=2275673#cmt2275673)
> 
> unbetaed, unBrit-picked
> 
> Special thank you to Shay_Moonsilk for the title help!

It’s all Gabriel’s fault, really, that Ezra is in this situation. And Michael and Uriel, who are in the next cubicles over and heard them talking. And Gabriel’s weird friend Sandy from accounting, who keeps showing up to grab Gabriel for coffee and seems unable to keep from chiming in whenever Gabriel gives Ezra his particular brand of backhanded advice. He has this way of looking at Ezra, a smile that’s somehow the opposite. He also has a habit of sneaking up behind Ezra and scaring the crap out of him that he’s pretty sure is on purpose.

Anyway, so it’s all Gabriel’s fault, but he’s not here, and even if Ezra had a way to contact him outside of work, he wouldn’t. What would he say, anyway? “So, I tried that dating application you and the others forced me to sign up for, and I actually arranged a date with someone, but they’ve stood me up”? Hardly. He can just imagine the expression on Gabriel’s face -- pitying but secretly a little bit gleeful -- something he would go quite far out of his way to avoid. Preferable forever.

He’s getting pitying looks now, from the people at the tables around him. Groups around him have been seated, eaten, paid, and left while he’s been waiting, nursing a single glass of wine, unwilling to drink more and risk being tipsy in case his date ever does show up. He glances again at his pocket watch, knowing it’s been far too long but afraid that if he gets up he’ll pass out.

“Oh, I’m so sorry I’m late,” an out-of-breath voice says, and a man he’s never seen before slides into the seat across from him. He’s gorgeous, with strong features, red hair in an expensive-looking hair cut, and a flash suit. He shoots Ezra a winning smile and tucks his sunglasses in his pocket, revealing striking amber eyes. “Work was insane, you know how it is.”

He is most certainly not the man Ezra is here to meet.

“Uh, yes, of course,” Ezra says, looking around quickly, like he’s expecting the cameras from one of those reality telly programs to appear at any moment. “Glad you could, ah, still make it.”

“I know, I should have called,” the man says with an exaggerated grimace. He picks up his menu and glances over it. “Any idea what’s good?”

Ezra frowns slightly. His date had picked the restaurant, choosing a French restaurant because Italian was apparently ‘dull’. “I’ve never been here before, but I’m told the coq au vin is excellent.”

The waitress chooses that moment to reappear and they spend a few minutes on the minutiae of ordering food: duck for Ezra, the chicken for the stranger, more wine for them both. The stranger navigates the wine menu with ease, which Ezra finds gratifying. He’s the first to admit he’s something of a wine snob. He asks a question about the Burgundy the man had selected, and they’re off on a detailed discussion about wine pairings, including a hilarious story from the stranger about a disastrous trip to a wine bar in America.

Ezra really needs to learn the man’s name.

Talk of wine turns to talk of theatre (his companion prefers “the funny ones”) and music (Ezra rarely listens to music first written  _ last _ century, much less this one, but his companion is surprisingly tolerant) and art (they both frequent the National Gallery on weekends). The time flies by, and for once Ezra barely notices what he’s eating, too caught up in their conversation. He vaguely notes that they order more wine, then dessert, splitting some sort of decadent chocolate and puff pastry creation that would normally have held all of Ezra’s attention.

Too soon, it feels, the restaurant seems to be closing up around them, the waitress watching them a little sullenly. “Oh, we should probably let these poor people go home,” Ezra says with a nervous chuckle, and his companion smiles and waves to the waitress, handing her his credit card when she arrives.

“No, let me,” he says, when Ezra begins to protest. “An apology. For being late and all,” he adds with a wink that is somehow charming rather than smarmy. Ezra watches a little helplessly as his companion and the waitress go through the usual dance of paying for their meal, and then they’re out on the street, staring at each other in the light of a streetlamp.

“Thank you,” Ezra says, blushing. “For dinner, and for sitting with me in the first place.”

The other man shoves his hands deep into his pockets and scrunches up his shoulders. Standing, he’s a little taller than Ezra and very lean, and the low light makes his hair look like flames. “Eh, I’ve been there,” he says, shrugging. “Thought it might be, y’know, nice to save your night before it was completely ruined.” He glanced down at his snakeskin shoes, then back up at Ezra, amber eyes unreadable. “Plus, you’re pretty cute. His loss, my gain.”

Ezra blinks, cheeks burning. He’s a little tipsy, and a lot nervous, but the whole night has been surreal since the other man sat down across from him, and the unreality of it all makes him bold, for once. “Would you like to come back to my place?” he asks, the words practically tripping over each other in their rush to leave his lips.

The other man grins, but it’s not mocking. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Well, then what’s your name?” Ezra asks, and the man laughs. “I’m Ezra Fell.”

“Crowley,” the man replies, sticking out a slender hand to shake. “Anthony Crowley, but not even my mum calls me Anthony.”

“Crowley,” Ezra says, shaking hands firmly. “Would you like to come back to mine? For a nightcap, perhaps? I’m not far.”

“Sure,” Crowley says, with a lopsided smile. “I’m not ready for the night to end yet, either.”

Feeling bold, Ezra darts forward and presses a kiss to Crowley’s cheek before skipping back, blushing hard enough that he feels like his head might catch fire. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“No, no,” Crowley says, taking one of Ezra’s hands in his own. “It’s ok.” He gives Ezra a lopsided smile. “I like you, too. Back to yours?”

Ezra nods. “It’s this way,” he says, pointing with his free hand.

Crowley lets go when they start walking but he stays close, walking together in comfortable silence. The night is beautiful, warm with a slight breeze, and soon enough Ezra is digging out his keys as they approach his building, a bank of flats above a block of retail shops. Crowley rests his hand on the small of Ezra’s back as he goes to unlock the door, and he almost drops his keys.

“Ah, it’s not much, but it’s home,” Ezra says as they go up the stairs to the third floor and stop in front of the second door. He unlocks this as well and steps inside, flicking on the lights.

The flat is clean but cluttered, books covering every surface. “Sorry, I wasn’t really expecting to be bringing anyone home tonight,” Ezra says, nervous all over again, but Crowley’s expression is delighted as he steps inside and looks around.

“No, it’s perfect,” he says, taking it all in for a moment and then looking back at Ezra with a smile. “Seems very...you.”

Ezra finds himself blushing again, and turns away. “Kitchen’s through here,” he says, going through an archway into the tiny galley kitchen. “Did you want more wine? Tea? I’m afraid I don’t have coffee.” Crowley doesn’t reply, so Ezra turns around.

Crowley is standing very close, and when Ezra is facing him he brings his hands up, cupping his jaw. “Alright?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” Ezra whispers, and then Crowley is kissing him, lips soft and slightly chapped against his own.

Ezra keeps his hands at his sides for a moment, then hesitantly moves to rest them on Crowley’s hips. Crowley smiles into the kiss and deepens it, flicking his tongue against Ezra’s lips, begging entry. Ezra tightens his fingers and opens his mouth.

Ezra loses track of time as they kiss. Crowley is sure but not demanding, not pushing things too fast or too far. Eventually they separate for breath, and Crowley smiles down at him, thin lips slightly swollen from kissing.

“Not tea, then,” Ezra says, probably smoother than he’s ever been in his life. Crowley chuckles, the sound rich with promise, wedging itself under Ezra’s ribs.

“Not tea.”

“Bedroom?”

Crowley blinks, looking almost as taken aback as Ezra feels. “You don’t have to, angel.”

The pet name makes it feel like something in Ezra’s chest is glowing. “I know I don’t,” he says. “But I want to. Unless--”

“No, no, I do,” Crowley says quickly, before Ezra can start in on a spiral of self-doubt. He steps back so Ezra is no longer trapped against the counter. “Lead the way.”

They trade off stealing kisses as Ezra leads them across the flat to the bedroom. Crowley stops them in the doorway, pressing Ezra into the frame with hands on his hips and lips against his throat. “Th-the bed is right there,” Ezra stutters out, and Crowley chuckles against his skin.

After long breathless moments he lets go just enough to move into the bedroom proper. He presses Ezra down onto the bed and steps back, dropping his suit jacket to form a dark heap on the floor. “Where’s the lights? I want to see you.”

Ezra blushes brightly and leans up to turn on the lamp on the bedside table, casting the room in a warm glow. He tangles his fingers in the hem of his sweater vest and hesitates for a moment before taking it off. Crowley is thin and fit, and he is decidedly not.

He looks up and Crowley is unbuttoning his shirt, tie already abandoned on the floor, slipping the buttons quickly. He’s down to his pants before Ezra has even taken off his shirt, and he kneels a little awkwardly at Ezra’s feet.

“You don’t need to be nervous, you’re gorgeous,” Crowley says, and Ezra can’t seem to stop blushing, a little embarrassed by it. Crowley touches the button at Ezra’s throat, cocking his head, and Ezra nods. Crowley undoes the buttons slowly, fingers petting over Ezra’s singlet underneath.

“How do you always know what to say?” Ezra says softly, shifting his arms so Crowley can slide the shirt from his shoulders. He undoes his own belt, untucking the singlet and pulling it off over his head before he can get nervous again. Crowley’s fingers immediately tangle in the soft fluff of his chest hair, nails scratching lightly against the skin.

“I don’t, I just get lucky sometimes,” Crowley says, nuzzling into Ezra’s neck. He tips his head back to give Crowley room to kiss him, leaning back on his hands. “I’m usually an asshole.”

“I don’t really believe that, dear,” Ezra says, the last word turning into a gasp as Crowley bites gently at the hollow of his throat. He slides his hands down Ezra’s sides, just firm enough to keep from being ticklish, and rests them on Ezra’s open belt. Ezra presses back on his hands and lifts his hips, and Crowley smiles, pressing a kiss to Ezra’s side as he slides his pants down and away.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” Crowley says, voice breathless. He rubs his check against the swell of Ezra’s erection. “Anything you want.”

“Oh,” Ezra gasps, the breath punched out of him. He curls forward, resting his hands on Crowley’s head for a moment before pulling them away quickly, not wanting to come across as demanding.

But Crowley clearly has other ideas and catches his wrists, bringing his hands back to rest on his head. “Like this?” he asks. “Do you want my mouth on you?” Ezra bites his lips and nods, a little squeak of sound escaping despite his attempts to quell it. It’s not like no one’s ever done this for him, but it’s been a long time.

“I think I still have condoms in the drawer,” he says, and Crowley leans up to dig in the bedside table, coming up a moment later with a strip of condoms and a cry of success. Ezra takes them from him and checks the date, feeling embarrassed. Thank Someone, they’re still good.

“Yes?” Crowley asks, and Ezra nods. He lifts his hips again so Crowley could relieve him of his pants, and then he’s naked, blush creeping down his chest. He wants to cover his face, or his belly where it sags into his lap, but something in Crowley’s expression stops him. “Gorgeous,” he says again, tugging Ezra’s hips forward a little. He nosed at Ezra’s cock again, pressing a quick kiss to the base, then sat back, smirking a little.

“What are you...oh, good Lord,” Ezra groans, as Crowley sits forward again, sliding on the condom with his mouth. At Crowley’s urging, he puts his hands back on his head, just resting in his flame-red hair, and watches in awe as his cock disappears into Crowley's mouth, so hot it’s like the latex isn’t even there at all.

Soon enough he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, but he wants to commit this to memory. The warm glow of Crowley’s hair in the lamplight, the contrast of his pale fingers tangled in it. Crowley’s red lips wrapped around him, the occasional glimpses of pink tongue. The slim fingers gripping his hips, tight enough to leave a wealth of lovely bruises the next day.

Too soon, he can feel the lightning running up his spine, and he makes some kind of noise he hopes Crowley will correctly interpret as a warning. He seems to, since he wraps his fingers around the base of the condom and takes Ezra as deep as he can, throat working around the head. Ezra cries out, a sound that vaguely resembles Crowley’s name, and comes.

When he comes back to himself, Crowley has taken care of the condom and they’re curled up together in the bed, Crowley’s cock a warm pressure against his hip. “May I?” Ezra asks, gesturing to it, and Crowley chuckles.

“Oh, be my guest,” he says, rolling onto his back and gesturing expansively. Ezra chuckles and wraps his hand around the turgid flesh, and Crowley chokes, smirk evaporating. Ezra’s smile widens as he strokes the warm skin, watching Crowley’s expressive face to gauge his reactions.

It’s not long before he’s coming against Ezra’s hand and his own belly, fingers of one hand dug deep into Ezra’s shoulder. Ezra spots a flannel Crowley must have used earlier on the corner of the bed, and rises just enough to grab it and clean them up, curling back into the warmth of Crowley’s side.

“Mm, thank you,” Crowley says, pressing his lips to Ezra’s temple in something like a kiss.

Feeling uncomfortable naked, Ezra rises and pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of trackies. “Would you like something to drink?” he asks, not looking at Crowley. “Water? Tea? More wine?”

“I’ll have some wine, if you’re pouring,” Crowley says. “Meet you in the kitchen in a tick.”

Ezra nods and flees to the kitchen, staring at the wine rack to decide what to open. Something red, surely, but would Crowley prefer the malbec or the syrah? He’s still deciding when warm arms wrap around his waist and Crowley’s sharp chin hooks over his shoulder. “Go with the malbec,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to Ezra’s neck. Ezra shivers and nods, stepping out of Crowley’s embrace to put the syrah back on the rack and retrieve glasses.

He pours two glasses to let the wine breathe a little and carries them and the bottle into the living room, where Crowley is examining the bookshelves. “Here we are,” Ezra calls with some put-on cheer, and Crowley turns back with a smile. They settle on the couch--after Ezra clears enough space for both of them to sit--wine glasses in hand, Crowley looking at Ezra and Ezra looking at his glass.

“Alright?” Crowley asks.

Ezra shrugs, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t usually do this. I  _ never _ do this, to be quite honest.”

“I can leave, if you like.”

“No!” Ezra says quickly, turning to Crowley. “I mean, no, please don’t, unless you need to. Makes it feel less…”

“Tawdry?” Crowley offers, and Ezra answers with a pinched smile. “‘S fine, angel, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Ezra blushes at the endearment, twitching at the fabric over his knee. Crowley is just wearing his pants, but he doesn't seem uncomfortable half-naked in the home of an almost-stranger. Ezra is jealous of his confidence, or at least his ability to not give a damn. His hair is still a mess, and he is gorgeous.

“What on earth made you decide to come into the restaurant and sit with me?” Ezra asks, tossing back a larger gulp of wine than he probably should have done. “I know I’m not much to look at, and I don’t dress nice. You didn’t know anything about me before we started talking.”

Crowley gives his wine a pensive look and takes a sip. “I’m going to have to disagree with you there,” he says. “You’ve got a distinctive style, sure, but you’re quite handsome. And your face...You seemed kind, is all. Someone who didn’t deserve to be stood up in a restaurant on a Friday night.” He shrugs one slim shoulder, swirling the wine in his glass. “Just felt like the right thing to do.”

“Does it still?”

“Of course it does!” Crowley says, putting his wine on the coffee table and reaching forward to take Ezra’s hand. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I wouldn’t have,” he gestures to the bedroom. “Wouldn’t have slept with you if I didn’t want to. If I didn’t like you. Hang on, stay there.” He gets up and hurries into the bedroom, comes back with his mobile, as sleek and state-of-the-art as he is. He slams down into the sofa next to Ezra and wraps an arm around his shoulders, holding up the phone to take a selfie. “Smile!”

Ezra smiles, a little weakly, and Crowley kisses him on the cheek as he takes the picture. “Now,” Crowley says, thumb quick over the screen. “What’s your number, so I can send you this and you can show it off to everyone at work?”

“I wouldn’t!” Ezra protests, but he’s laughing, leaning into Crowley’s side. He rattles off his number, and hears a ping from the bedroom, where his phone is probably on the floor somewhere, still in the pocket of his trousers.

“Well, do as you like,” Crowley says, leaning away just enough to put down his phone and pick up his wine. “But now I have your number and you have mine, and you can call me if you ever want to get dinner with this old bag of bones again.”

Ezra rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his wine, warmed by the alcohol and Crowley’s arm still wrapped around his shoulders. They finish their wine, speaking occasionally but mostly sitting snuggled together in companionable silence. “I’m for bed,” Ezra says eventually, when the wine glasses are empty and he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open. He looks at Crowley, and there’s a question clear on his face.

And for once, Ezra knows exactly what to do.

He stands, turns back to the couch, and offers his hand. “Come with me?”

Crowley’s smile shines like stars on a clear night.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning isn’t nearly as awkward as Ezra might have feared. He falls asleep with Crowley’s warm weight pressing against his back, and when his alarm wakes him he’s in much the same position, one of Crowley’s slim arms wrapped around his soft waist. Crowley grumbles when Ezra slips free and pads into the bathroom, but doesn’t wake.

Ezra is showered, dressed, and in the kitchen frying eggs for breakfast when Crowley appears, bleary-eyed in just his pants and Ezra’s castoff shirt from the night before. It’s too big on him, but the familiarity of the action causes a warm rumble low in Ezra’s gut. He realizes he’s staring and turns back to the eggs.

“Coffee?” Crowley asks, sloping into one of the mismatched kitchen chairs.

Ezra shakes his head. “Just tea. Though there’s one of those fancy espresso places downstairs, if you want to get dressed.”

“Tea’s fine for now,” Crowley says, before yawning wide enough that Ezra swears his jaw cracks. “Sorry, not usually up this early.”

Ezra glances at the clock. It’s half-seven, which he knows is early for a weekend. “You’re welcome to go back to bed.”

“Maybe after breakfast,” Crowley says, with an eyebrow waggle that makes Ezra laugh. “Lazy breakfast, back to bed, then I’ll take you to lunch. That sounds nice.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Ezra says, though it sounds pretty nice to him, too. He pours a cup of Irish Breakfast from the pot by the stove and puts it in front of Crowley.

“Ah, but I want to,” Crowley says, cupping the mug and inhaling the steam.

“Milk or sugar?”

“Nah, ‘s fine like this.”

Ezra continues to prepare breakfast, finishing the eggs with a bit of dill and catching the toast when it pops from the toaster. He can feel Crowley’s eyes on him but tries to ignore it. He plates the eggs and toast and sets them on the small kitchen table, sliding into the other seat with his own tea. “What?” he says, when Crowley is still staring at him.

Crowley shakes his head and mumbles something Ezra doesn’t catch. “‘S nice, is all,” he says finally, after Ezra has given up on waiting and digs into his eggs. “Been a while since someone’s made me breakfast.”

“It’s not much,” Ezra points out, but Crowley shakes his head, shoveling his eggs onto the toast and taking a bite.

“Not the point,” he says once his mouth is no longer full. “It’s about the intention.”

Ezra blushes at that. His intention was for Crowley to not regret the night before, to really mean it when he’d mentioned the possibility of spending time together again. He hadn’t expected much of anything when he’d let Gabriel and the others talk him into installing the dating app, and he’d expected even less after being stood up, but Crowley had taken an uncomfortable situation and made it...well, pretty close to perfect.

“So, how do you usually spend a Saturday?” Crowley asks after they’ve eaten in silence for a few minutes, chasing scraps of egg around his plate with his fork.

“Reading, mostly,” Ezra says. “If I don’t have some other obligation. I like to go to museums sometimes, or walk in the park. St. James’s is not far from here.”

“How would you feel about some company?” Crowley asks. “I live in Mayfair, it’s not far. I could swing home, change into something less...eh, less  _ business _ , and we could do lunch and go for a walk?”

“That sounds nice,” Ezra says, unwilling to fight the urge to say yes. Crowley clearly likes him, he wouldn’t ask to spend more time with him if he didn’t. There’s no reason why Ezra should be sabotaging this just because he thinks Crowley shouldn’t be interested.

Crowley shoots up from the table and absconds with the dishes, setting them in the sink with a clatter. “But first, I’m taking you back to bed,” he says, grabbing Ezra’s hands and dragging him up. Ezra giggles and lets himself be led back to the bedroom.

***

When they finally get dressed again, Crowley’s flash suit is a little worse for wear from spending the night on the floor in a heap, but somehow Crowley doesn’t seem to mind. He fusses with his hair in the mirror while Ezra puts his clothes back on, the oxford shirt, waistcoat, and trousers similar to what he wears every day, work or no. “So I’ll text you the restaurant,” Crowley is saying, as Ezra fixes his tie. “Great sushi place, not far from here. I’ll meet you in, say, an hour or so?”

He pokes his head out the bathroom door in time to see Ezra’s nod. “Then I’ll see you soon,” he continues, swinging out of the bathroom and kissing Ezra soundly as he passes. “Ciao!” he says in a flighty, put-on voice, and Ezra laughs.

He stays seated on the bed until he hears the front door close behind Crowley. Then he gets up and goes to look at himself in the mirror. Nothing looks like it has changed, despite the fact that Ezra has taken a huge chance and slept with someone he’s just met. Someone he intends to see again, and soon.

He’s never done anything like this before in his life.

His phone pings, and he looks down to see a text with an address, a heart, and a series of other emojis he can’t hope to interpret. He looks back up and catches his expression in the mirror.

Something has changed, visible proof. He looks happy.

***

Ezra arrives at the restaurant right on time, and Crowley is already there, lounging in a booth in the back. He’s wearing a black shirt with an open neck, giving Ezra a lovely view of his collarbones and upper chest, and is that red spot one that Ezra left with his mouth? Ezra blushes, and Crowley sees him looking, his answering expression a pleased smirk. He doesn’t say anything when Ezra sits down, though, so that’s something.

They order sake and a selection of nigiri and rolls, though Crowley spends more time drinking sake and watching Ezra than eating. Ezra is a little less distracted by Crowley’s presence this time, so he’s able to pay more attention to the food, and it is lovely: soft, pillowy rice; fresh, almost flavorless fish; a little bite from the wasabi; the crisp crunch of pickled vegetables and tempura batter; the briny chew of seaweed. Ezra is in heaven.

They talk about work: Ezra’s boring office job, Crowley’s slightly more interesting lawyering. They talk about politics, theology (Crowley has  _ opinions _ , and while the part of Ezra that almost went to seminary whitters in shock, the rest of him is thrilled), art again. Music. Crowley is full of interesting things to say, even when he’s clearly talking bullshit, and Ezra loves that he doesn’t seem to mind when they lapse into silence, either.

When the fish and the sake are gone and the check is paid (Crowley again, over Ezra’s protests), Ezra is pleasantly full and just the slightest bit buzzed, and all is generally right with the world. “Still up for a walk?”

“Yes, definitely,” Crowley says. He shoots up from the table in a way Ezra is already becoming familiar with, waits for Ezra’s more sedate movements, and they leave the restaurant, walking close enough together that their shoulders occasionally brush.

It’s a lovely spring day with a bit of a breeze, so the walk to and through St. James’s Park is quite nice, cool and refreshing. Crowley doesn’t even look at him funny when he apologizes to the ducks for not having anything to feed them; he just says they’ll have to remember to bring something “next time”.

That “next time” warms Ezra’s insides for the rest of the day.

***

They spend the whole day together, in the end, heading back to Ezra’s flat when the sun starts to set. Ezra insists on cooking dinner, since Crowley paid for their other meals, and Crowley subsides with a grin. “You can cook something more complicated than eggs?”

“A little,” Ezra says, and is very glad that he went to the shops earlier in the week so he actually has ingredients in his refrigerator and pantry. “How does pasta sound? I think I have what I need to make carbonara.”

“More eggs,” Crowley teases, but his smile is fond. “Wow me, angel.”

Ezra rolls his eyes to hide the way the endearment still makes him blush. The kitchen itself is small, so Crowley sits on one of the kitchen chairs--technically in the living room--while Ezra puts up a pot of salted water to boil and gathers the rest of his ingredients. He pours them each a glass of pinot grigio to sip on while he cooks.

“Wine and books are my two real indulgences,” Ezra says, chopping pancetta. “A delicious meal doesn’t have to cost much, but with wine I think it’s worth spending a little more.”

“Oh, the places I want to take you,” Crowley says, reclined on the chair in a way that doesn’t seem physically possible, wineglass dangling from his fingers. “I eat at a lot of nice places for work, and most of my colleagues and clients don’t appreciate them. But I bet you would.”

“We had better make time for many more walks in the park, then,” Ezra shoots back, and Crowley laughs, tipping his head back and revealing the gorgeous line of his neck. How is it so easy to talk to Crowley, who he’s just met, when he stumbles to talk to colleagues he’s known for years, and even his own family? He’s comfortable with Crowley like they’ve known each other their whole lives, but he also gets to have the thrill of learning everything about the other man, too.

Crowley shares stupid client stories as Ezra grates the cheese and starts the pancetta frying, putting the spaghetti up when the water begins to boil. He whisks together the eggs, extra yolks, and some of the cheese, seasoning with pepper. The kitchen fills with the delicious smell of frying bacon as he removes the pancetta from the heat and sets it aside, returning a small amount of the glistening liquid fat to the pan to wait for the pasta to finish cooking.

“And then I said to him, ‘that’s highly illegal, and I won’t be putting my fine arse on the line for a few extra hundred thousand pounds when you inevitably get arrested’,” Crowley says, grinning.

“There is no way that’s what you said to him,” Ezra says, hefting the pasta pot and draining all but a little of the water away. He adds the pasta and some of the salty, starchy water to the pan with the fat, tossing the noodles to coat them and reduce the water away.

“Yeah, but I considered it,” Crowley says, crossing his arms over his chest, grin unrepentant. “I did tell him ‘no’, though.”

“And it sounds like you were right to do so,” Ezra says, whisking some reserved pasta water into the eggs and then tossing the mixture into the pasta to coat the noodles nicely and make a sauce. “Nothing interesting ever happens in my office, though I suppose that’s for the best.”

“Eh, interesting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, that’s for sure,” Crowley said, setting his glass on the table and crossing his arms over his head. “I could do with a little more boring sometimes.” Ezra mixes the pancetta back into the pasta and serves portions into two waiting bowls, topping them with more grated cheese and cracked pepper. “Here, let me,” Crowley says, when Ezra tries to juggle both bowls and his wine glass out of the kitchen, standing up to take the bowls from him. “Thanks, this looks and smells amazing,” Crowley adds, pressing a kiss to Ezra’s cheek just shy of his lips.

“This is about the most complicated dish I can manage,” Ezra says, bringing forks and his wine to the table.

Crowley tops off their glasses and raises them in a toast. “To happy accidents?”

“And new companions,” Ezra adds, touching their glasses and taking a sip.

“Mm, angel, this is really good,” Crowley says after digging into his pasta.

“Thank you,” Ezra says, blushing and looking down at his plate. He occupies his mouth with eating so he doesn’t say anything foolish. Ezra feels Crowley’s eyes on him while they eat but doesn’t look up. The last day has been wonderful, perfect, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

“Everything alright?” Crowley asks finally, after they’ve finished eating and he’s cleared their bowls to the sink to deal with later.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Ezra says quickly, smoothing down his waistcoat and taking a quick sip of his wine.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Ezra says quickly. “I mean, of course you can leave if you want to, if you have somewhere else to be. I’m sure you don’t want to spend the night again or anything.”

“Actually, I’d like to stay again, if you want,” Crowley says softly, reaching out and taking Ezra’s hand. “I’ve got to go home tomorrow, get ready for the week and all, but I’d like to stay. Sex, or just sleep, whatever you like.”

Ezra smiles, squeezing Crowley’s fingers in his own. “I’d like that, too.”

  
***

Monday morning, Ezra enters the office with an uncommon smile on his face and an unheard of spring in his step. He’s approaching his cubicle when he hears his name and stops, half-hidden behind a watercooler.

“I mean, I knew he’d fall for it, I don’t think he has any friends,” Gabriel is saying to his little cohort, who are listening and laughing. “Like someone on a dating site would actually be interested in  _ him _ ? Ezra’s a total nerd, and not even an interesting one, at that.”

Ezra feels his face go hot in anger and embarrassment. The failed date had been Gabriel setting him up? He takes a deep breath, unsure what to do. Part of him wants to confront Gabriel, but that won’t solve anything. He hates all their smug faces.

He feels his phone vibrate and slips it out of his pocket. A text, from Crowley. Despite his anger, his smile returns as he opens the notification. It’s a picture of a paper coffee cup, filled to the brim, a gorgeous, expensive view of London in the background.  _ Only things keeping me going this morning are this and the memory of your smile _ , the text says, and now Ezra is blushing for a whole new reason.

And he knows exactly what to do.

“Good morning, everyone!” he says brightly, rounding the watercooler and stepping into his cubicle. “I hope everyone had a good weekend.”

The others blink at him as he takes off his coat and tucks the satchel with his lunch under the desk. He half-listens to their muttered replies until Michael asks, “And how was your date, Ezra?”

“Oh, it was wonderful,” Ezra gushes, purposefully playing it up a little. “The food was so good and he was so lovely. We spent most of the weekend together.”

Gabriel looks at Michael, eyes wide. “Oh, uh, that’s great,” he says.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Sandy says, his usual nasty smirk firmly in place, and even Gabriel seems taken aback at his lack of subtlety.

Ezra fumbles with his phone, pulling up the picture of them Crowley had taken. “See?” he says, as the others stare at it. “His name is Crowley.”

“He seems nice,” Uriel says hesitantly, and Ezra beams.

“You’re planning to see him again?” Michael asks, like she’s looking for proof that it’s fake.

“Oh, definitely,” Ezra says.

“Well, it’s good you enjoyed yourself,” Gabriel says brusquely. “Back to work, everybody. Time’s a’wastin’.”

The others go back to their cubicles and Ezra sinks into his chair, smile going private and pleased.  _ Grab dinner with me on Friday? _ he texts Crowley, after a moment of thought.  _ You will not believe what Gabriel did. _

The answer is almost immediate, and makes Ezra smile even wider.  _ It’s a date _ .

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/615777727131353088/its-a-date-melayneseahawk-good-omens-neil)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


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